


Better With You

by javajunkie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, olicity au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/javajunkie/pseuds/javajunkie
Summary: OLICITY AUWhen Oliver is caught drunkenly trying to steal a yacht he is sentenced to community service. It's about the last thing he wants to do until sparks fly between himself and a girl at his community service site.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 27
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is another story I'm picking up from my old fan fiction.net account (spykid18) that I hope to finish! I hope you all enjoy it!

Oliver Queen knew it wasn't a good idea to steal a yacht. Actually, to put it more aptly, sober Oliver knew it wasn't a good idea to steal a yacht. Even tipsy Oliver knew better. But drunk Oliver, with nearly half a fifth of whiskey and too many beers to count, loved the idea. He even came up with it. Barreling down the marina with a half-full bottle of Stella Artois, he looked at the cavernous yacht with its rich mahogany paneling and self-important railings, and thought to himself that he'd never seen something more beautiful. So, naturally, like most things beautiful that came into Oliver's path, he decided he had to have it. And, like those other beautiful things that came into Oliver's path, he did. Except this time, the having wasn't exactly consensual.

Which is how Oliver ended up standing in front of a judge in the Starling City courthouse, wearing that one Brooks Brother suit that he hated and sweating clear through his shirt. He always heard that courtrooms were kept cold to make sure the jurors didn't fall asleep, but this one must have been at least seventy five degrees. The judge was talking, but he wasn't listening. He just nodded, like his lawyer instructed.

"Don't say a word," his lawyer, Jim, had lectured him before they entered the courtroom. "Just nod and try to look contrite. Think you can handle that?"

He could, in fact, handle that. He was a pro at excelling for show; you don't come from one of the wealthiest families in Starling City without learning how to fake it just a bit. Otherwise you'd never make it through the endless ring of pointless parties and emblematic discussion of your future. They key to not crumbling under the pressure was to simply pretend it wasn't there in the first place.

Oliver took to nodding whenever the judge's voice rose in volume, which seemed to work out well enough. Jim never elbowed him or cleared his throat to indicate he nodded out of place.

"Do you understand me, son?" the judge said loudly, the elongated pause following the question alerting Oliver to the same.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" Oliver asked, working to bookend the question with the most abashed look he could muster. The judge wasn't impressed.

"Do you understand me," he repeated, the words clipped. "You can't use your last name as a get out of jail free card. What sort of example does that set for everyone else? You must take responsibility for your actions."

"My client could not agree more," Jim interjected smoothly. "We are more than happy to pay the owners of the yacht for any damage –"

"I am not going to allow your client to buy his way out of this," the judge said harshly. Oliver started listening then. "Too often, the children of this city's upper crust come in here and expect to sign away any problems on the bottom of a check. It's a disgrace to our justice system."

"Your honor, if I may –"

"You may not. My decision is made. Mr. Queen will pay a 10,000 dollar fine and complete 500 hours of community service. He…"

Oliver stopped hearing anything after that. Five hundred hours? How was he supposed to complete that on top of his responsibilities at Queen Consolidated? How was he supposed to complete that, _period_? 

He vaguely heard Jim try to argue down the community service hours, but his lawyer was silenced by the judge's gavel smashing against the desk. Jim whisked his client out of the courtroom, his cheeks flushed and an errant lock of hair dipping down below his eyebrow. He swiped at it furiously, but it fell back down.

"This is ridiculous," Jim muttered. "He's just making an example of you. It isn't fair. We should have been in front of Judge Horton. He would have let you go with half that fine and nothing else."

"They can't seriously expect me to complete 500 hours, right?" Oliver asked. "I have other responsibilities. A job. A life."

"They are very serious," Jim said. "But, don't worry. We'll get a few under your belt and then petition the court to reduce it. I can't promise anything, especially with that ass hole, but we can try."

"I still have to do some?" Oliver asked in disappointment. His gaze toward Jim hardened. What was the point of having a lawyer if you still ended up having to pay.

Jim took in Oliver's disgruntled look and said, "Hey, pal, maybe you should have stopped to think before you stole another person's fucking yacht."

"I did think," Oliver said. "It just wasn't a particularly good thought. Look, are you sure there isn't some other way to get me out of this? Hey, maybe we can make some of my work at Queen Consolidated go toward those community service hours. We have that community outreach program thing, right?"

Jim shook his head. "Two entirely different things, Oliver. You have to do the work, at least in the beginning. Look, you don't worry about it. I will find a place for you to work. All you have to do is show up and don't totally burn the place down. It'll be a cake walk, okay?"

* * *

"Community service?" Tommy said, shaking his head morosely. "That's rough, man. I thought Jim was going to get you off on a fine?"

"Apparently I need a better lawyer," Oliver said, crashing onto the couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table. Tommy was with Oliver the night of yacht-gate, as it became lovingly referred to in their apartment, but had the good fortune of vomiting into a garbage can across the marina when the police arrived.

"That yacht is so not worth all of this. It wasn't even that big," Tommy said.

"I couldn't agree more," Oliver said. "Oh, and dude, next time I'm tanked and decide it's a good idea to steal something, think you could play a little better interference?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Tommy said. "You were a man on a mission. You had your sights set on that yacht, dude. Who did it even belong to again?"

"Richard Nicholson," Oliver spat. "I should have known that prick would press charges."

"Did you know it was his when you tried to take it?"

Oliver shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Not really, I guess."

Oliver's phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was a message from Laurel.

"Not dealing with this," he muttered, tossing his phone on the table.

"Let me guess, the lovely Laurel?" Tommy drawled.

"She's pissed about the courthouse today. Apparently I am an embarrassment. She knew the clerk in the courtroom or whatever. Who knows, she's always pissed about something."

"You guys have a beautiful relationship," Tommy teased. "You're an inspiration to couples everywhere. So, do you know where you'll be doing your community service?"

"Not yet," Oliver said. "But, wherever it is, it's going to suck."

"Maybe you'll meet some hot community service girl. Finally break off your fucked up thing with Laurel."

Oliver laughed. "Only you, Tommy Merlyn, would take my community service and turn it into a romantic comedy."

"What can I say, I have a vision."

* * *

Felicity Smoak hated her job. She hated the endless lines of people with the same computer problems that probably could be solved by five minutes on Google. She hated the condescending way her boss talked to her, and how her one coworker Steve always seemed to touch her when he passed. It was always, hey, Felicity, let me get past you – unnecessary shoulder grab – or, hey, Felicity, let me see what's happening on that screen – "accidental" boob graze. Every day, it took everything in her not to throw her MIT degree in their faces and tell them, I am above this! I am better than a Geek Squad underling! But what good would that do? Impressive education or not, she was still at the bottom with them.

"My computer is running slow," her customer said.

"Did you try turning it on and off?"

"They always say to do that, but it doesn't really do anything, does it?" the woman said.

Felicity swallowed hard and said, "It does actually do something. It resets your computer. See, when you have it on it builds an internal task list. Everything you open goes on that list. So, when you have your computer on for a long time and you're using a lot of programs, that list gets longer and longer and makes your computer run slower. Do you understand?"

"I still don't think turning it off will solve the problem."

"Why don't we just try?"

"Can't you run some test on it? It's running very slow."

"I –" Felicity was cut off by the alarm on her watch. It alerted her to the end of her workday, and while typically she wouldn't skate out in the middle of working with a customer, she couldn't stand another minute in this store.

"You know what, I think you're right. We should run some tests. I'm going to bring this in the back to work on," Felicity said. "You just wait here, and we'll call you on the intercom when we have it sorted out, okay?"

The woman nodded, "Okay. See, I told you it needed more than a restart."

"I appreciate the help there. Now, you go shop. We'll call you. What's your name?"

"Cynthia."

"Alright, Cynthia. Let me just take your computer now."

Felicity picked up the computer and walked into the back workroom. She set the computer down on the table and told her coworker Mindy, "Just turn it off and then back on. Wait about twenty minutes then call a Cynthia on the intercom."

"Twenty minutes to restart a computer? That takes twenty seconds."

"Trust me, you don't want to have the restart conversation with this lady. Just tell her that you ran the tests we talked about and you fixed the problem."

Mindy nodded. "Okay."

"My shift is officially over," Felicity said happily. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Are you going straight to Hope?" Mindy asked.

Felicity nodded. "Yeah, why?"

Mindy grabbed a plate covered with tinfoil that Felicity hadn't noticed before. "I made these for the kids. They're chocolate chip, so you don't have to worry about any peanut allergies."

"They are going to love these. Thank you, Mindy."

* * *

The next morning Oliver received a call from his lawyer detailing where his community service would start. He hated it already.

"You want me to work in an orphanage? Come on, Jim, you've seen me with kids. This'll be a disaster. Aren't those kids messed up enough without throwing me into the mix?"

"You can cry to yourself later," Jim said, not phased by Oliver's diatribe. "I already called and told them that you'd start this afternoon."

"I have work this afternoon," Oliver said.

"No you don't. I already called your father and told him that you are going to have to cut back your hours to start putting a dent in that 500. He agreed. Even said that this might be good for you."

"Of course he did."

"So, they're expecting you in an hour. Try to look nice. Maybe shave that weird neck beard you've been growing."

"I do not have a neck beard."

"Whatever, neck stubble? I had to pull a few strings to get you there, so just try to look presentable, okay?"

"Fine."

* * *

Oliver pulled up to what had to be one of the most depressing buildings he'd ever seen. It was all gray bricks, with ill-conceived pops of color that looked more desperate than cheerful, the likely intended result. He walked into the building and quickly made his way toward the main office. He passed a few children who completely ignored him. He liked their style.

"You must be Oliver," a woman in a long flowing dress said. She had a large chunky necklace hanging from her neck and her hair was wound into a bun on the top of her head. Oliver couldn't tell if she looked relaxed or crazy.

"Yeah, that's me."

"So, wonderful to meet you. I'm Prudence. Welcome to Hope orphanage. Please, come in," she said, ushering him into the office. "Jim told me all about you. I think you are going to be a wonderful fit."

"Am I?"  
"Oh yes, we have mostly women helping out here. A male figure will be really nice for the young boys here. Someone for them to look up to."

Oliver gaped at her. Did this lady not know how he ended up here in the first place? If she did, she didn't mention it, smoothly continuing, "Now, I know that you come with many special skills, as we all do, but we only had one vacancy here. I'm hoping you're a good planner, because I put you on our programming committee."

Oliver forced a smile, having no idea what a programming committee actually did. But, it sounded innocuous enough.

"Now, don't worry, I'll have your co-chair talk you all through it. She was supposed to be here now, but, oh – here she is now. Felicity, fantastic timing!"

Oliver turned his head and found himself looking at a diminutive blonde in one of the brightest yellow cardigans he'd ever seen. It was almost highlighter yellow.

"Sorry I'm late," Felicity said, sitting next to him. "Traffic was a real you-know-what." She flashed him a grin. "I'm Felicity Smoak. Very nice to meet you."

"Oliver Queen," he said.

"I really like your building," Felicity said. "Not that it's really your building. It's your family's building. Or, maybe not even that depending on who actually owns it.

"We do own it," Olvier said.

"Oh, well, anyway, cool architecture. I really dig the tall spire on the top."

Oliver smirked and said, "I always appreciate people commenting on my spire."

Prudence sounded like she choked on something and said, "Well, now that you two are acquainted my work is done. Felicity, will you take him through what we have planned for the month?"

"Of course," Felicity said. "Come on, I'll show you around while we talk."

He got up and followed her out of the room. She was a fast walker, and he had to consciously quicken his gait to keep up with her.

"So, what we do is plan all the programming for the kids," she began. "It's nothing too flashy. Just activities to help break up their days. It can get a little monotonous for them here if they do the same thing ever day, so we try to give them some variety. We have a bunch of activities set for each day, and then every month we have one larger event. This month's will actually be your first project here."

"Really? I have a project already?"

She smiled and nodded. "We don't waste time here. But, don't worry, it's a total soft ball. As you might be aware, this month is reading month."

"Sure," he said slowly, having not, actually, been aware of that.

If Felicity picked up on that, she didn't comment, bowling straight on with, "We read a lot to the kids here, but they get sick of our voices. So, we're planning a symposium of reading, where we invite different people from the area to read to the kids. I've already secured a number of names, but we need a handful more."

Oliver shrugged. "Seems easy enough."

Felicity wrinkled her nose and said, "It's also Saturday?"

"Saturday? As in two days from now?"

"We were really understaffed until you came here," Felicity said by way of explanation. "I tapped everyone I could at work, but there are only so many people I can bribe into doing this."

"Bribe?"

"All the good natured people I know already have plans on Saturday."

He laughed, and she told him, "We need maybe three more people, four tops. Think you can handle that?"

"I can definitely handle that," he told her.

"Good," she said with a definitive nod. "So, shall we continue our tour?"

"Yes, please, continue away."

* * *

Oliver had every intention of asking people at work to help out with the reading symposium, but then he forgot. A number of minor crises popped up during the day, and then Laurel called asking to go out for dinner. She'd barely talked to him since the debacle, so he couldn't pass that opportunity up. He remembered the symposium briefly before he fell asleep, Laurel's body warm against his, but then he fell asleep and forgot again. It wasn't until an hour before the event, him and Tommy drinking on his couch, that he remembered he was not only supposed to be there, but to bring three or four charitable souls with him.

"Shit," Oliver said, setting his beer on the coffee table. He'd barely gotten halfway through it. Tommy, on the other hand, was already on his third. He started a good hour before Oliver, claiming that a sober Saturday was a wasted Saturday.

"What is it?" Tommy asked.

"I forgot I had community service stuff today. Hey, you can read right?"

Tommy turned his beer bottle around so that the label faced him and said, "Well, let's see. Indian pale ale." He looked up from the label. "Yeah, I think I can read."

"Want to entertain some kids this afternoon?"

* * *

The symposium was about to start and Oliver was nowhere to be found. Felicity tried not to get herself too worried. She planned most of this event anyway since he only started a few days ago, but there was still the concern of the last three stories having no one to read. Of course, she could always sub herself in, but the kids always listened to her read. This was supposed to be something different and fun for them. They heard her awful voices enough. She let out a breath that she didn't quite realize she was holding when she saw Oliver walk in, a tall brunette behind him. She pulled them back out into the hallways.

"Sorry I'm late," Oliver said. "I lost track of time. Felicity, meet Tommy. He is going to read the pants off of those stories of yours."

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life," Tommy promised.

His words said one thing, but the alcohol on his breath said another. Felicity looked over at Oliver and said, "Um, sorry, but has your friend been drinking?"

Oliver didn't answer immediately, which was answer enough, and Felicity hissed, "You've got to be kidding me. I give you one task. One _simple_ task, and this is what you bring me? Your drunk friend?"

"I'm going to go outside," Tommy said in a strained voice. "I think I…yeah, I want to not be here right now."

Tommy left, and it was only Oliver and Felicity. She could hear the reader inside the room nearing the end of _Give A Mouse A Cookie_. There'd only be one more guest reader before she'd have to make something up.

"Do you realize how irresponsible and reckless that was?" she said. "You brought your drunk friend into a place like this? Don't you realize that some of these kids come from homes with substance abuse? How do you think they would have felt seeing your drunk friend stumble in the room?"

"He would not have stumbled anywhere. He's still at the functional level of drunk," Oliver said immediately, realizing a moment later that it probably wasn't the smartest response.

"That's not the point," Felicity said irritably. "The point is that you put the kids at risk. You put my _job_ at risk –"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have had me get people three days before the event. Ever thought of that?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I asked you to find a few people to come and read a book. I didn't know that would be so challenging."

"What's the big deal, anyway? You'll just read a few stories. I can read a few. It's not like these kids were expecting anything really big. I mean, look at where they are."

Felicity's eyes went wide and he knew he went too far. "Wow. You really just said that. You know, there are very few times in my life where I wish I had a cream pie to throw at someone, but this is one of those times. What is wrong with you?"

"Look, I didn't mean that like –"

"Like, what? Like, the fact that they're in an orphanage means that they should expect less? That they don't deserve every single thing that any other child does?"

"Look, get off your high horse, I didn't mean it like that. I just mean that anything is better than nothing, you know?"

Felicity shook her head in disgust and turned away from him. She spotted Tommy out the back door who was watching the entire exchange. He looked away quickly and pretended to find the pavement exceedingly interesting.

"I think you should go."

"Felicity, I –"

"Go."

Somewhere in the midst of their argument both _Give A Mouse A Cookie_ and the story after it came and went. It was time for the currently unplanned block, and Felicity took a deep breath, vaguely thinking that the show must go on.

"I have to go read some stories now," Felicity told Oliver. "If you come back on Monday, be prepared to actually do your job. I don't have time to do my job and yours."

With that, she walked away from him.

* * *

Oliver knew he fucked up. He should have realized that bringing his drunk friend to read to a bunch of children wasn't a good idea, but unfortunately that realization had come too late. He had to make it right, though. For the sake of those remaining 495 hours, if nothing else.

So, he made a few phone calls and hoped that it was enough to quell whatever wrath Felicity had in store for him. His efforts proved somewhat successful.

"You brought them Barney," Felicity said in disbelief, watching the large purple dinosaur read a story to a group of enraptured three to seven year olds. "You are so going to be their favorite now. And you brought a drunk guy to read to them before."

"If you don't tell them that last part – which I doubt they'd even understand – I'll tell them that you also were in on the Barney surprise."

"I still can't believe you brought them Barney."

"Well, I figured that since I sort of ruined your first reading symposium I could do a second one. It's technically not a symposium since it's just one person doing the reading, but I don't think they mind."

Felicity shook her head. "I don't think they do either."

"I can't confirm or deny what I'm about to tell you," Oliver began, "But, there may be the possibility that we can do this again next month with Mickey Mouse."

She looked at him with wide eyes. "Wait, seriously?"

Oliver shrugged. "I know a guy who knows a guy."

"They'd flip," she said in a soft voice. "Think you can get Minnie, too?"

"I can ask."

She nodded, lips pursed together in a cross between a smile and frown.

"So, how many fictional characters do I need to bring here before you're not pissed at me anymore?"

Felicity paused and then said, "Talk to me after Mickey and Minnie."


	2. Chapter 2

"I think you should go for it," Oliver said, leaning forward and bracing his hands on his knees. The recipient of this advice, a twelve year-old boy named Daryl, shook his head and said, "No way."

"Come on, she's cute. I saw her share that cookie with you during lunch today."

Oliver spotted a worn checkers board and quickly went over and grabbed it. Brandishing the board triumphantly, Oliver said, "This is your key, buddy. Take this over to her and ask to play a game. That was one good cookie she shared at lunch, so there's no way she's saying no."

"I'm not asking her to play checkers," Daryl returned dejectedly.

"Why not?"

"Because it's lame."

Oliver shrugged. "It's not the first move I'd go with, but you have to work with what you have. That's the first lesson in getting girls, Daryl. You need to make the most out of a situation." He handed him the checkers board. "Now, go and ask her to play. How are you at checkers?"

"Pretty good," Daryl said, his gaze drifting to the topic of their conversation and then quickly returning to Oliver. His cheeks flushed, and Oliver knew that she must have caught him looking.

"Okay, good. Let her win the first game. You can win the second, but not by too much. The third one you leave to chance. See how the game goes, if you have a nice time, then you share _your_ cookie with her on Wednesday."

"Why not tomorrow?"

"You have to let these things simmer a bit," Oliver said reasonably. Daryl didn't look convinced, and Oliver patted him on the shoulder as he told him, "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. My girlfriend's super hot, and I got her with these moves."

"You guys played checkers?" Daryl asked in confusion.

"Well, not exactly," Oliver said slowly. Laurel and him actually drunkenly met at some society party and had sex in the wine cellar. Somehow, he didn't think their way of meeting was age appropriate for Daryl. "Trust me, though. This will work."

Daryl nodded and took a deep breath.

"You can do this. And if you strike out, there are lots of other girls."

Daryl seemed comforted by that thought, and took another shaky breath before walking over to the girl. Oliver watched him gingerly strike up a conversation. The girl smiled and nodded.

"And he's in," Oliver murmured, doing a subtle fist pump at his side.

"Who knew you'd be such a Hitch," Felicity said, walking beside him.

He looked down at her. "You saw that, huh? Impressive, right?"

"Daryl is usually pretty shy," she said. "It's nice to see him branching out. And, admittedly, that is because of you. He's really taken to you. I even saw him trying to comb his hair like yours."

Oliver laughed, imagining Daryl trying to matt down his mess of curls. "He's a good kid. I'm happy to help out."

"You sent him on a failing mission, though," Felicity said. "The girl he wants to talk to –"

"Amber," Oliver interjected.

"Yes, Amber. She likes Robbie."

"Seriously? She likes that kid?" Oliver said in disbelief. Robbie was a fifteen year old who picked on a lot of the younger kids. Half the girls had a crush on him, but he always thought Amber seemed above it. She was a sweet girl, and kept mostly to herself. He hadn't even seen them interact.

Felicity smirked. "There's nothing wrong with Robbie."

"He's sort of a dick," Oliver said. Felicity gave him a look and he said, "Hey, circumstances don't discredit basic facts. I know kids like him. I _was_ that kid. Daryl cannot lose to Robbie."

"It's not a competition," Felicity said slowly. "And besides, Heather likes Daryl. She talked about him for almost all of arts and crafts yesterday. You should casually mention her."

"No, he's getting Amber," Oliver said resolutely. "All my focus is now on this project."

She smirked, tilting her head to the side. "You're very invested in this relationship between twelve year olds."

"Daryl is a good kid," Oliver said. "And I think the good guy should get the girl sometimes. This is going to be one of those times."

"Whatever you say, Yentl."

Felicity's phone buzzed and she pulled it from her pocket. Oliver glanced over her shoulder, smirking when he saw a dating app open on her phone. He quickly read the open conversation and asked, "Why are you asking if this guy has a van?"

Felicity quickly pulled her phone into her chest and said, "Hey, haven't you heard that reading over people's shoulders is rude?"

"Yes, I have," Oliver answered reasonably. "Are you looking to date someone with a van? That seems oddly specific."

"No," she said reluctantly. "I'm not trying to date someone with a van. What I am trying to do is none of your business."

"Oh, this has to be good," Oliver said, bowling straight past any issue she took with him following up. "Why are you cruising a dating website for men with vans?"

Felicity sighed. "I'm moving this weekend and I need help with my boxes."

"Don't you have friends?"

She glared at him. "Of course I do. But, none of the ones with cars are available. Well, one is but I don't trust his car to make it all the way to my apartment. I looked into renting but, surprise, it's really expensive. So…"

"You're hoping to match with a nice van," Oliver finished, unable to stop the wide grin from spreading on his face. "This is the greatest thing I've ever heard. Really. Thank you for sharing this moment with me."

She rolled her eyes and told him, "I wasn't exactly a willing participant in the sharing, but you're welcome."

"You know, I have a van."

"No thank you," she said primly. "I am happy with my current plan."

"So, do these guys know that they're being used for their van?"

"I'm not using any of them. I plan on making it very clear that I am –"

"You _plan_?" he interjected dubiously, finishing it off with a bark of laughter. Felicity decided them that he was too amused by all of this. "You're probably talking to all of these guys, making them think that they found a nice girl who appreciates their choice in vehicle, and then they're going to have the rug pulled out from under them. I'm a little offended on their behalf."

"Okay, calm down," she said sardonically. "It is not your place to be offended on behalf of mankind. You don't represent them. I think they'd object to that, actually."

"A fine specimen of man such as myself? I doubt that."

She smirked, eyes gliding to the side and then that same smirk dipped into a frown. She crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Your perfect plan for Daryl and Amber has hit a snag."

Oliver followed her gaze and when he saw Robbie standing next to the pair, attention fully on the practically glowing Amber, said, "Mother fucker."

"Oliver!" Felicity hissed in surprise, although she couldn't help the snort that followed. "He's fifteen. You seriously need to chill out."

"Come on, Daryl, you can handle this," Oliver said, watching the exchange. "The kid's all bravado. Also, if he's anything like I was, he's easily defeated."

"Really?" Felicity asked beside him.

"Oh yeah. If anything took too much work I hightailed right out of there."

She raised her eyebrows and returned, "Fine specimen of man, huh?"

"I never claimed to be perfect," he returned with a shrug. "But I do believe my haircut is a cut above that of the general male population." Felicity snorted. "And I have an impeccably clean BMW X5. That's an SUV, by the way."

"I'm still not having you help me move. I hold my belongings in high regard. I don't know if I should entrust them with the man who was arrested for drunkenly trying to steal a yacht. Which is ridiculous, by the way. I've never even seen a yacht. I definitely can't imagine stealing one."

"I told you that in confidence, you know," Oliver said, referring to the yacht incident. A week or so back, after Mickey Mouse came for a reading and Oliver cemented himself as the favorite of the kids, much to Felicity's chagrin, the two of them stayed late cleaning up and he admitted how he ended up working in the orphanage.

"You do realize that's public record, right?"

His eyes widened. "Wait, really?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Yes, Oliver, your yacht debauchery is public record. I'm surprised you haven't framed the court order."

"That's not a terrible idea," he said, rubbing his chin. "Tommy and I are in need of some wall art."

Felicity's phone dinged and she looked down. Oliver could see that it was another message from the dating site.

"Would you please just let me help you move?" Oliver asked. "When is it, this weekend? Because I just so happen to be free this weekend."

"How riveting. The answer is still no," she said drily, typing away on her phone. She paused for a second and then swore under her breath. "Of course you're out of town this weekend," she mumbled.

"He's probably not. He probably just, you know, doesn't want to help a stranger move. Unless you're offering favors. Which, for the record, I would not expect after said helping."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not offering sexual favors."

Felicity noticed a little girl, around five years old, watching her with curious eyes, and Felicity quickly stammered, "Which are favors of the…biological…nature. And are something you, Lilah, should not worry about ever. How about a juicebox?"

Lilah nodded her head timidly. 

"Alright." Felicity cast a sheepish look toward Oliver and said. "It's juice time."

"Well, I can't get in the way of that."

Felicity whisked Lilah off toward the kitchen, and Oliver glanced back at his protégé. He was pleased to see that Robbie had sulked off somewhere else, and Daryl and Heather were animatedly taking part in their checker game. He spotted Robbie begin head back their way, and Oliver pulled aside one of the teenagers and said, "I'll get you an ice cream bar if you play interference with Robbie there."

"One with chocolate?" the kid countered, gaze firm. "And nuts."

"Yeah, whatever. One with chocolate and nuts."

"You've got a deal." 

* * *

Felicity hated moving. Everything about it made her skin crawl, from the reserved freight elevator times to the endless cardboard boxes. There were so many opportunities for everything to go to shit, and then there was her current problem that she had no idea how she was going to move all of her stupid cardboard boxes to her new place. She also didn't know if it would fit. She'd finally saved enough money to get a place of her own, and it was practically a postage stamp of an apartment. But it was hers, and she decided the minute she found it that she'd do whatever she could to make it work. She was over living with her mother, who was a wonderful parent but a less than wonderful roommate. Her mother had the cleaning skills of someone who was never taught to clean – which might have been the case, Felicity had never actually met her grandparents – and she had a penchant for deep one in the morning conversations when Felicity had work early. But, she was her mother, so Felicity put up with it, like one did for someone they loved, but she'd reached her limit. It was time for Felicity to forge her own path, and she couldn't have been happier. Except for the boxes. And the stupid freight elevator, which was currently forty minutes over schedule from the person using it before her.

"I say we just grab it next time it's down here," her friend Lydia said. She didn't have a van to borrow – which was remedied by a stupidly expensive rental, for which Felicity still wasn't quite over – but she made up for it in pluck, and her ability to carry nearly twice of what her small frame looked like it could handle.

"We can't just grab the elevator," Felicity said.

"Why not? The bitch had her turn."

Felicity smirked. "Look, we'll just wait. The hard part is over, right?"

"Sure, if you consider hauling all of these boxes upstairs the easy part."

Felicity frowned. "I hate moving."

"At least you're finally away from Donna. How does freedom feel?"

"Like an aching back. Besides, I lived away during college."

"Yeah, but that's not the same," Lydia said dismissively. "This is the real deal. Your real entry into adulthood. In theory, you will never go home again, only visit.'

Felicity thought of the pile of dirty dishes in the sink back at Donna's apartment. "I can't say I hate the sound of that."

"Felicity?"

She stiffened at the voice. It couldn't be him. But sure enough, she looked to the side and there was Oliver, walking with a coffee in his hand. He was wearing a light jacket, and his stupid expensive haircut made his hair look perfectly tousled. She felt Lydia straighten beside her, back stiff and chest out. She knew that move. Felicity felt an urge to tell her horny friend to back down, but knew it wouldn't do any good.

"Oliver, hi."

"Is this the new place?" he asked, walking over. He glanced over at their rented van and said, "I'm guessing your online ventures didn't work out?"

"You guessed right."

"For the record, I offered to help," Oliver told Lydia, hand over his chest. "Someone else said no. I'm Oliver, by the way. Felicity and I volunteer together at the orphanage."

"I'm Lydia. It's very nice to meet you. You know, we're only just starting. The moving day is young."

"Is it?"

"We have boxes. Lots of them."

"We're fine," Felicity said quickly. "Really. What are you even doing over here?"

"I live right around the corner," Oliver said, hiking his thumb behind him.

"You're kidding," Felicity stammered.

"I don't joke about real estate," he said with a remarkably straight face. "I'm over on Maple. If I would have known you were so close to me I would have insisted you let me help."

The elevator slid open and the prior mover walked out, looking rather defeated, and murmured, "Elevator's all yours."

"You can take that box there," Lydia told Oliver, pointing toward one of the heavier ones.

Felicity immediately went, "Oliver, you don't need to help."

"Ignore her," Lydia instructed, nodding her head toward the box again. Oliver dutifuly put down his coffee and took the box. Relenting to the inevitable, Felicity grabbed one of the lighter boxes and followed the pair into the elevator.

* * *

Halfway through the move, Oliver enlisted Tommy's help, and at the end of three very long hours, the four of them sat on Felicity's floor, drinking beers that Tommy brought over and staring at the three unpacked boxes that couldn't possibly fit into Felicity's already packed apartment.

"Shouldn't we at least open them?" Oliver said. "See what's inside?"

"No, it's better this way," Felicity returned solemnly. "It's a clean break. I can't miss what I never knew I had, right?"

"But, you'll figure out what's in there," Lydia said. "You packed all of these boxes."

"You really have no idea what's in it?" Tommy asked.

Felicity shook her head. "I really don't. I packed some of these so long ago…" she shrugged, "…it could be anything."

"Okay, this is ridiculous," Oliver said, standing up. He pulled a small Swiss army knife from his back pocket. "We're opening the box."

He expected some sort of reaction from Felicity, but halfway into her second beer, she merely shrugged and went, "Alright, open it."

Oliver opened the first box, which ended up being filled with more blankets than any single person in their right mind could use. Oliver pulled each one out, becoming increasingly befuddled with each new blanket.

"What could you possibly need this many blankets for?"

"I run cold," Felicity offered by way of explanation.

"You could build a pretty awesome fort with all these," Tommy noted, taking a long pull from his beer bottle. Lydia glanced sideways at him and murmured, "Aren't you a little old for a fort?"

"One is never too old for a fort."

Oliver opened up the next box, which had an assorted mix of odds and ends for which Felicity admittedly had no use. She decided to bring the box to the orphanage, where some of it could find a decent home. The last box was barely held together on top with tape, and when Oliver opened it he practically recoiled at what he found on top. He gingerly pulled out an old baby doll that had clearly seen better days. It had no clothes on, and one of the hands was nearly bitten clean off, save for one solitary finger.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's my baby Lisa doll," Felicity said happily, reaching forward and plucking it from his hands. "God, I haven't seen this thing in ages, my mom must have slipped it in."

"Where'd it come from?" Oliver asked slowly. "Hell?"

"Oh stop, it's not that bad."

"Its hand is bit off," Oliver said. 

"My parents got this doll for me when I was a baby. I took it everywhere with me. I remember leaving it at the grocery store in one of those little things where you pulled bags out of, and having to drive back to get her. I cried the entire way, and didn't stop until we found her."

"Yeah, let's go back to the part where you bit the hand off."

"I didn't bite the hand off," Felicity said dismissively. "I was teething."

Tommy considered this for a moment and said, "Still sounds like you bit it off."

"And why is it naked?" Oliver asked.

Felicity shrugged. "Who cares, it's a doll."

Lydia gingerly took the doll from Felicity's hands and put it back in the box. "Yeah, let's just put this doll back where it belongs. Where no one can see it. I think that box should go straight to the back of your closet. That way when that doll tries to kill you in the middle of the night it has some obstacles to get through."


End file.
